Page 112 of Slapshot Bride

Riley Brooks. You beautiful legend. We’ll be there. What time. What can I bring?

I laugh out loud in the empty kitchen.

I run the errands in ninety minutes with some cash Easton has insistently left for me over the weeks whenever he’s out for practice, and he thinks I’ll need something.

The print shop takes twenty. The drugstore frame is eight dollars. The chicken is from the grocery store, the lemons are cheap, and the rosemary is fresh because I splurged. My grandmother’s recipe. The one meal I can make at any time that reminds me of the warmth of home, and being around the people I love.

The people I love?

No, not that way. Easton deserves this more than any other person I know.

By four, the chicken is in the oven, the potatoes are cut, and the kitchen smells like a home. The framed photograph is face-down on the counter next to the birthday card and the cake I added to the list, last minute.

He comes down at five.

He walks into the kitchen in sweats and a soft gray shirt, looking like he’s just woken from a century’s sleep.

I laugh when I see him. He’s cleaned up, too.

“Riley…”

I cover the distance between us and wrap my arms around him, but he’s not looking at me. His eyes are fixed on the counter. The stove, and what’s cooking.

“Happy birthday, baby.” I kiss his lips.

He doesn’t move at first.

“You cooked?”

“Made my grandmother’s roast chicken. Special recipe for a special occasion.” I wiggle my brows, attempting a joke, but he doesn’t laugh.

Oh.

“You got me a cake…”

“Come, sit…”

I lead him to a stool, and he does.

“Here…” I slide the card his way, and he reads it. When he's done, I slide the frame across the island.

I do it face-down, so he has to turn it over himself.

He turns it over and goes very still.

He looks at it for a long time. His thumb runs across the corner of the frame. His mouth opens once, and he closes it.

“Riley.”

“Yeah… I’m sorry I can’t get you any proper gifts right now. I just… I just wanted to make today special for you, and um…” I run out of words because I can’t fully process how I feel.

He sets it down carefully, like it might tip.

“Come here…”

I’m beside him before he can repeat the words.

He pulls me between his legs, and kisses me slowly. I hold his shoulders and moan into the kiss, unable to hold back. When he breaks it, his eyes stare into mine, with an unreadable expression etched in them.